Stages of Trust
by TheTimidDark
Summary: Elizabeth Keen is learning to trust. Lizzington in 3 parts.
1. Tissue Paper

**Stages of Trust**

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Disclaimer: I don't own the characters herein.

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**Chapter 1: Tissue Paper**

She was wrong about him. She was wrong about everything.

She was drowning.

This time Liz Keen couldn't depend on Reddington to hold her hand and give her a safe harbor. She'd accused him of making it all up, after all. Told him to go to hell. Tried to sever their connection completely, but he wouldn't be so easily shaken.

She thought she had Tom.

She once thought she had Red.

Now she has no one. And she only has herself to blame.

"You look as though it's the end of the world, Lizzie."

Startled from her dark thoughts, Liz turned to the new occupant of her bench. His green eyes, like always, were directed on something peripheral to her. She thought, _'Speak of the devil, and the devil will come.' _Then, _'Why is he here?'_

Still not glancing at her, Reddington somehow knew what was on her mind. He sighed, redirecting his attention to a couple walking their child through the park. The little girl was laughing, swinging between her parents hands. A picture perfect family, at least on the surface. Red understood just how much could be buried beneath.

"If you're wondering, I came here to make sure you were okay," he said, still not looking at her.

Shaking her head, Liz furrowed her brow at the enigmatic criminal. "Why? After what I accused you of, why would you even bother?" She ran her hand through her hair in agitation, and the burn mark on her wrist caught her eye as it passed. Focusing on the old scar, she frowned, holding her wrist in her lap and rubbing the raised flesh with her thumb. "I'm a mess, Red." Her voice thickened as she continued, "This scar... You asked me about it before, but I didn't tell you the whole story. Do you want to know how I got it?"

He turned to her for the first time, sharp gaze roaming over the pain in her expression. "Yes," he said, because he wanted to know everything about her. Even the things that might further deteriorate the perfect image of her in his mind.

Her lips trembled for a moment as she fought tears at the memory, but she quickly brought herself under control. "I, um... I was fourteen, like I said before. Fourteen is an awkward age for a young girl. Developmentally, there are hormones... Boys enter the picture. But I-." She halted, gathering her thoughts. "I kept to myself as a child. I didn't allow anyone to get too close to me. I didn't have many friends. But there was this guy at school. Cute, athletic... Not really all that smart, but that didn't matter back then." She shrugged. "Someone I trusted told him that I had a crush on him. I was standing in the hallway, so I overheard the whole conversation. And he told her to let me know not to bother him. He thought I was a freak." A tear slipped down her cheek at the remembrance. She paused to draw a deep breath. "When I went home that day after school, I took a book of my foster father's matches out of the drawer. I went to my room and just... stared at myself in the mirror for awhile. I started to think that maybe he was right. So I gathered all my beauty supplies into a pile on the dresser and lit a match." Liz sniffed, shaking her head again. "I wasn't thinking. The flames were so high, and I panicked. I grabbed my pillow and started to try to beat it out, but I couldn't smother it. Then the pillow caught, and the shock made me fall into the dresser. I put my hand down on the handle of my curling iron, already so hot... The pain woke me up, kind of, and I ran to the bathroom for a bucket and some water." She stopped, gaze back in the real world, watching something on the playground. In the pregnant pause, her eyes drained of sadness and adopted a haunted look. "I finally put the fire out, but the damage was done. My foster family sent me away afterwards.

"Everything I touch, Red, I ruin." She started to cry in earnest. "Or maybe it's already ruined when it gets to me; I don't know anymore. Maybe I'm some kind of magnet for misfortune."

"No!"

Her eyes caught his at the vehemence in the word. His visage was stern as he grasped her wrist tightly, almost painfully.

"Don't you ever think that way, Lizzie." It was a command, meant to be followed. She began to get angry.

"Why the hell not?" She tried to free her hand from his grip, but it was too tight. "Let me go, Reddington!"

"Not until you show a little sense!" he hissed. Tugging her arm, he pulled her body to his in an awkward hug. Liz fought him until she was forced to admit he was much stronger than she was. When the fight left her and she sagged against him, Red said, "Cry it out, Lizzie. I've got you now."

And at his words she did, dissolving into broken sobs that shuddered through her frame like a current. She buried her face into his expensive vest, arms that were hanging limply winding up his back to draw him closer. His own hands worked soothingly over her back and hair.

They stayed that way on the park bench for nearly a half hour. Liz's tears had dried up, and she spent ten minutes just soaking in the only comfort she was sure to receive. When she lifted mascara-streaked eyes to Reddington's face, she saw calm. And when he dipped his head to place a kiss on her forehead, her eyes drifted closed.

"Why?" she asked softly, not wanting to destroy the serenity of the moment. "Why do you care?"

Red's hand wove through her brown hair, pushing the loose strands stuck in the tracks of her tears behind her ear. "I just do," he murmured. "Can we leave it at that?"

"I need answers," Liz whispered. "I need for something to make sense." His thumb caressed one final tear from her cheek as she beseeched him. "Please."

He studied her devastated blue eyes silently. He knew he was hurting her as much as he was helping her by keeping her in the dark, but he wouldn't be pressured into confessing his sins. But if he told her the only thing he could in this situation, he ran the risk of scaring her away.

"I can save you from the bad guys, Lizzie," he said slowly, testing the words as they fell between them. "I can provide you a shoulder to cry on when your world crumbles." His eyes softened a degree as he said, "I can protect your heart if you ask it of me. I'll do all this and more gladly, but I won't tell you why." He offered a small smile, stroking down her cheek with his knuckles before cupping it in his palm. Liz's brows had narrowed again; certainly another protest was coming soon. "You have all the clues you need to divine my motivation for caring, if you tear away bias and preconceived notions and just think about it from a fresh perspective."

Liz lowered her eyes to her lap, newly confused. "If I can figure it out myself, why can't you just tell me?"

"There's so much I wish I could tell you, Sweetheart, but I don't for your own protection." Liz started to interrupt, but he brought his finger to her lips, shushing her. "There will come a day when you know everything. For now, let's not add to your stress. Just know that I care very deeply for your wellbeing and leave it at that."

It wasn't satisfying, but she was too emotionally drained to argue with him. Besides, hadn't she been regretting the rift between them? After discovering the truth about Tom, Liz knew that Red had been honest with her the whole time - trying to protect her by shepherding her in the right direction. Who's to say she wouldn't be dead now, killed by her own husband, if Red hadn't come into her life? It was a question that would never have an answer, thus it didn't merit much consideration. But questions aside, it was clear to her now more than ever that this man - this criminal; this monster - truly cared. She could rely on him.

"I'm sorry for doubting you," Liz told him, heavy lids falling over tired eyes. She leaned into his embrace. "I was blinded by my own delusions." A bitter laugh. "A happy life and a career that was just taking off. I wanted so badly for it to be real."

"I know," Red responded, squeezing her tighter. He rubbed his cheek on her sweet-scented hair, kissed the top of her head. "I know, Sweetheart."

He drew away, holding her eyes and trying to convey the sincerity of his next statement. His hands clasped hers on her lap. "You have me."

Liz believed him.

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Author's Note: I wrote this after episode 5, I believe. After the whole Sam reveal as the man who raised her, (and the nudges toward Red being her father, which I'm not inclined to believe just yet,) this should be considered AU. Thanks for reading.


	2. Glass

**Chapter 2: Glass**

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Disclaimer: I don't own the show or its characters.

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Raymond Reddington followed the FBI's newest and most accomplished profiler out of the Post Office, hand resting casually on the small of her back. Liz shot him a warning glance that anyone might have interpreted as an indication that she didn't welcome the contact. Reddington took it for what it truly meant: they had eyes. Ressler wasn't far behind, and the agent never hid the fact that he was watching their every movement. They both felt the discerning eyes like the heat of the sun on their skin.

Reddington left his hand where it lay. Screw Ressler. It was all part of the game, anyway. Red pushed Liz's boundaries, and Liz pretended it was all a big offense to her sensibilities. The argumentative nature of their relationship in the workplace made it easy for everyone to believe they didn't get along. A change in that pattern of behavior might seem like an obvious ruse.

Liz sighed. She felt like Red was pressing his luck where Ressler was concerned. It wasn't _his_ job that would be on the line if anyone were to suspect the profiler and her criminal partner had gotten friendly.

And despite her belief that such an event was an impossibility, they had become friendly. True to his word, he had been her rock through these long months spent tracking the Blacklist's targets. A shoulder to cry on when her divorce had finalized. A savior when skill alone couldn't remove her from a dangerous situation. Liz assumed it would be difficult developing trust with a man who insisted on secrecy in matters concerning _her_ life. It hadn't been, perhaps because she no longer held any expectations of full disclosure for _anyone_ who entered her life.

Liz turned left when they got to the street; her car was parked in the lot. Red veered to the right where Dembe was waiting for him with his ride home, hand brushing the top of her pants as it slipped away. They didn't glance at each other. There were no goodbyes. Such actions implied a level of familiarity and respect that they weren't affecting. His hand on her was different; it represented a claim of ownership and control.

Liz entered her vehicle and dallied with the collection of indie-rock CDs in her console. Her eyes shifted discreetly every now and then to Ressler's car in the rearview mirror. She couldn't have him following her, so she waited until he left, fiddling with the case of a Florence and the Machine disc before loading it into her player. Cosmic Love blared from her speakers as she slowly backed out and started down the road, opposite the direction of her new apartment.

It had become routine on Friday evenings for Liz to meet Red at his home. They shared the couch, sipping on the unknown alcohol Red had uncovered and poring over old tomes in the library. Sometimes they would talk, or simply sit in companionable silence as the hours dwindled into twilight. What they did was of no consequence to Liz. It was the security she craved - the illusion of safety that she only felt when she was alone with Reddington.

Well, not completely alone. Dembe and Luli were always around to protect their client, but they kept to other areas of the house when she visited. Liz didn't know if it was a decision they made on their own or at the request of Red. She guessed it didn't matter either way.

The trip normally took around thirty minutes, but Liz went the scenic route. When she arrived out front of the old building that had once belonged to undiscovered author, Frederick Hempstead, she was relaxed - a combination of the music and the soothing monotony of driving. Dembe met her at the sidewalk like usual, providing her escort into the residence.

"You took the long way again," Red said by way of greeting as she entered the library. He sat in his favorite spot on the right side of the couch, a paperback in hand, which he set to the side as she joined him, taking the center cusion. "Luli is almost done with dinner, if you're interested. We're having filet mignon with portobello mushrooms in a cabernet sauvignon reduction."

Luli was an excellent chef, although most of the time Red preferred to fix his own meals. Liz could attest that his skills in the kitchen were not to be shunned, either. Still, their menu always gave her pause. It was far removed from the simple burgers and pastas she had specialized in with Tom.

Liz tried to steer her thoughts quickly away from her ex-husband. "Sure. I'm... famished, actually."

Reddington noticed the subtle shift of her mood but chose not to comment. He was aware she came here to escape her troubles, after all. Unscrewing the cap on a bottle of their usual milk-colored drink of choice, Red poured her a tumbler. She accepted it gratefully before leaning over him to catch the title of the book he'd been reading. He watched the waning light streaming through the windows highlight the red undertones in her hair and concentrated on keeping his hands from running through it to play with the intriguing spectrum.

"_The Experience_?" she asked, withdrawing her body and with it his temptation.

"Eneriko Seruma. It's a story about how prejudice and one's own poor choices combine to create an impossible atmosphere for success, told from the perspective of a young man in Uganda. The writing's merely tolerable, but the story is good." He gestured vaguely to a set of bookcases over their right shoulders. "Found it while I was categorizing the bookshelves. An ambitious endeavor, I know, but it needs to be done." Red shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know how the man found anything in this chaos," he remarked, referring to the original owner of the apartment.

Liz huffed a laugh, smiling crookedly. Red was an orderly man at heart. It contradicted his lifestyle at times.

"So," she began, casting her eye about the room, "where did I put that book...?"

Reopening his own in his left hand, Red pointed with his right to the stack of books by the window. "Table under the sill, second from the top."

Liz got up to retrieve it. She'd been reading _The Recursive Universe_ for the past two Fridays and was looking forward to finishing it tonight. She dug it out from under another dusty paperback and returned to her place on the couch. Settling back into the cushion, Liz flipped to her bookmark, withdrawing it and throwing it onto the coffee table. Comfortable, she picked up where she left off.

An hour passed in companionable silence, interrupted only once by Luli arriving with their meals. As expected, the filets were cooked to perfection, and their salads were crisp, rife with trimmings, and evenly spritzed with a delicate vinegarette dressing. While they ate, they discussed their reading material. Red, having already consumed the pages of her book, gave his opinion on the possibility of multiple universes: "A universe where I'm not an obnoxious pain in your ass? Please, I think we can both agree that doesn't exist." Afterwards, they cleaned up and returned to their separate tasks, appearing very much to the casual observer as though they hadn't moved at all.

The evening was relaxing. It was just what she needed after a long day of observing the darker element of society. That kind of work was both exhilarating and draining. Wind-down Fridays had become an important part of her week.

She glanced down at her page number and noticed she only had about twenty more to go. She'd have to find another one, which was a grueling task with so many to choose from. Taking a breath, she flipped to the next page and was just absorbing herself into the text again when she felt Red's thumb on her back. She stopped reading, concentrating instead on the steady strokes of his thumb and wondering when he'd placed his arm behind her. He hadn't moved any closer; he was still settled in the corner of the couch, but his arm was long enough to just reach the center of her back.

These small touches weren't anything new. He'd been connecting with her physically almost since the first day they began working together. It used to bother her in the beginning, when she thought the gestures were only meant to condition her, like a dog to heel. After the turning point of their relationship in the park, the touches didn't stop. They didn't become any more or less common, but the connotation changed from manipulation to...

What? Comfort?

Now, she didn't know. But despite the normalcy of the situation and her reluctance to possibly ruin a perfectly good evening, it brought back the day's events and the Ressler dilemma, and she suddenly couldn't keep from addressing it.

"Red?"

"Hmm?" Closing his book and resting it on his lap with a finger trapped as a bookmark, Red fixed his attention on Liz. The hesitance in her tone indicated her discomfort, but he tried not to become worried. His thumb didn't cease its movement on her spine.

She flashed him a thin smile so he wouldn't think this was an interrogation before she asked cautiously, "When we were leaving the black site, why did you provoke Ressler like that?"

She was referring to when he didn't drop his hand like she'd wanted him to. The thumb stopped. Red tensed, sliding his arm out from behind her. Obviously this kind of thing was a problem. He didn't want to destroy the tentative friendship they'd created in the past months.

Liz had been afraid that he'd get the wrong idea. Catching his arm with hers before it could completely retreat, Liz shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Red. I mean, aren't you nervous about it?"

He stared into her eyes, not liking the guarded feeling that had overcome him. "I'm only concerned that you are."

She turned away, eyes roaming over the shelves but not really seeing anything. "I'm just afraid that they're going to accuse me of..." She paused to find the right words, but Red beat her to it.

"Of being in league with someone like me," he concluded bluntly, clearly displeased.

"No!" She ran her hand through her hair, frustrated that they were slipping. "That they'll accuse me of... of getting too close."

He caught her eye, unsure of how much she wanted this conversation to reveal but willing to press her. "Are you?" he asked. He saw her breath catch.

"I-" Liz floundered, uncomfortable. She released his arm, gaze falling to her lap as she wondered how she would regain control over their discussion. "I... Look, if our partnership has taught me anything, it's that I should defer to your wisdom sometimes. If you feel the FBI is in the dark about... this..." - she waved a finger between them - "...then I'm just going to trust that you know what you're doing." She sighed, resting back against the cushions again. "Please, forget I mentioned it. Can we please just go back to what we were doing without the awkwardness?"

Though disappointed, Red nodded in acquiescence. She was protecting herself by looking past what was right under her nose. There was nothing he could do. She would come about the realization when she was ready. Ignoring the tension in the atmosphere, he relaxed into his seat and resumed reading, even going as far as returning his arm to its previous rest behind Liz. The calm of the evening found them again soon enough, however, and, quite unconsciously, his thumb resumed its stroking.

In the minutes that followed, Liz reread the same sentence ten times for lack of focus, worried that she'd made a mistake. This was all she had. Ever since Tom's betrayal, her life had been reduced to a single mantra: Breathe in, breathe out. Sometimes even that task, which seemed so simplistic and natural, was nearly overwhelming in its tedium. Sometimes the air that was supposed to sustain her turned to lead, lining her lungs and making breathing the most difficult trial she'd ever conquered. Red resuscitated her and lent her the strength to continue through another day. Liz didn't want even this to join the pile of ruined debris that composed her life.

But then suddenly she felt the rhythmic caresses on her back, and her anxiety left her in a heady rush. Touch was reassuring. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to finally forget her misstep and bask in the comfort Red provided...

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She awoke to near darkness, the muted glow of two lamps being the only sources of light in the dusk-filled library. Sound followed sight as whisper-soft exhalations stirred her bangs. Touch awakened next in the span of a muddled blink, and her awareness extended to satisfying warmth and silk on her cheek. Remembering where she was, Liz concluded that the silk was Red's vest, as it was clearly a body she was currently leaning against. The weight on her head was obviously Red's cheek pressing into her hair. It was his arm around her waist, holding her loosely to his side, and his legs, stretched out in front of them, that were propped on the coffee table.

"Shit."

Tense, Liz began to extract herself from the cozy but complicated situation. She swung her legs out from under her and gently slid her head out of the juncture of Red's head and shoulder. The movement woke him anyway. She watched him suck in a startled breath as she rose, opening his eyes and blinking the sleep from them groggily. "Sorry," she apologized lamely, not entirely feeling the sentiment. She shouldn't have been there. An FBI profiler shouldn't be sleeping on a couch with her criminal partner.

Either not noticing or ignoring her flustered appearance, Red asked, "What time is it?"

Liz didn't know. Late, she guessed, glancing at the dark window. "Time for me to be going. It's late," she said, gathering her purse from the table. Her book was beside it; Red must have moved it there when she'd fallen asleep.

Bracing his hands on his thighs, Red stood. "Then let me escort you to the door," he offered but drew up short when Liz held up her hand.

Her words held a strained note when she replied, "Thanks, but I can find my way." At his nod, she said, "Goodnight, Red."

He wondered if there would ever be a time when this awkwardness didn't impede their progress. "Goodnight, Lizzie." A fleeting smile.

Blue met green for a moment that dug in its heels. Liz broke the connection, turning toward the door.

"Lizzie?"

Hand on the knob, she halted. "Hm?"

"Be careful driving home."

She shot him a small but grateful smile. "I will." And then she was gone.

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Author's Note: Well, it's chapter 2. I gave Liz a car and some cuddle time with Red. It just gets mushier from here, folks, as the next chapter features a date. Thanks for reading, and I appreciate the support of those who have left reviews. Hopefully I don't disappoint.


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